


Totally Platonic Bunkmates

by braezenkitty



Series: Totally Platonic Bunkmates [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: 5 Times, Canon Compliant, Castiel Knows, Castiel is a Tease, Castiel/Dean Winchester First Kiss, First Kiss, Frustrated Sam, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Sexually Frustrated Dean, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-08
Updated: 2016-04-08
Packaged: 2018-06-01 02:49:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6497875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/braezenkitty/pseuds/braezenkitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Dean and Cas had to bunk together, and one time they didn’t.</p><p> </p><p>  <em>"He could be an adult about this, it really wasn't a big deal. He'd just keep to his side of the bed and face the wall, away from Cas. It wasn't a problem at all. So why did his stomach feel like he just ate a handful of worms?"</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	Totally Platonic Bunkmates

**Author's Note:**

  * For [poD7et](https://archiveofourown.org/users/poD7et/gifts).



> This is for the lovely pod7et, who is always so encouraging and open to discussing Misha and crack and vegetables, and—well, all manner of weird shit. Hope you enjoy :)

#### 1

“Okay, rock, paper, scissors,” Sam said, raising his hands into position with a sigh. “Cas, you too.”

“Or you could just show your elder some respect and let me have a bed to myself,” Dean grumbled. He raised his hands anyway.

“In that case, the bed should really be mine,” Cas said, coming to stand next to the two brothers and giving them a skeptical look. “I am several millennia older than you both. I'm not sure I understand the mechanics of this game anyway. How exactly are we using it to determine which two of us will be sharing a bed?”

“Whoever wins two out of three gets a bed to themselves. I know it's hard with your elder brain, but try to keep up, alright?” Dean said with a smirk. Cas raised an eyebrow and glared at Dean as he raised his hands. Dean suppressed a shiver and looked away. “Okay, let's go.”

Three rounds of rock-paper-scissors later and Sam was giggling his way into the bathroom while Dean threw a fit and Castiel watched him, brows furrowed and head tilted.

“How does that jerk always win?” Dean said, rummaging through his duffel bag for a pair of sleep pants, being rougher than was probably necessary.

“Well, Sam explained the rules to me once and told me that you almost always throw scissors,” Cas said with a shrug. “Even with my ‘elder brain’ I could figure out how to beat you with that knowledge.”

“That was a rhetorical question, and screw you, Cas,” Dean jabbed a finger in Cas’ direction and glared at him over his shoulder. “Your elder brain couldn’t figure out how to beat Sammy.”

“Touche,” Cas answered, turning away from Dean to rummage through his own bag.

“Whatever, I call the side by the door. You stay on your side, I'll stay on mine. Capiche?”

Dean tried not to think about the fluttering in his belly that began when he had thrown his final ‘rock’ and sealed his fate.

As soon as Sam emerged from the bathroom, Dean rushed in. He changed his clothes and stood in front of the sink, brushing his teeth and trying his best not to freak out about sharing a bed with his best friend. He could be an adult about this, it really wasn't a big deal. He'd just keep to his side of the bed and face the wall, away from Cas. It wasn't a problem at all. So why did his stomach feel like he just ate a handful of worms?

Dean stuffed that question down, refusing to acknowledge it. If Cas wasn't acting weird about this, then Dean sure as hell wasn't going to make it weird. Only the former angel didn't really get human things like modesty or embarrassment or suppressed attr—no, Dean wasn't going there. He was going to share a bed with his totally platonic best friend in a totally platonic way.

Dean spit and rinsed his mouth, avoiding eye contact with his reflection in the mirror on his way out of the bathroom. Sam was already snoring lightly, sprawled out on his stomach with his feet hanging off the end of his bed. Dean stifled a laugh behind his hand as he threw his clothes on top of his duffle bag in the corner.

“What's funny, Dean?” Cas’ voice resonated in the small room, soft but somehow too loud, or maybe too penetrating. It made the worms in Dean’s belly start squirming again. He tried to laugh through the feeling and ignore it.

“Just laughing at the Sasquatch over there,” Dean said nodding at Sam then bringing his gaze to Cas where he sat propped up against the headboard of their — _no, the_ — bed. Dean’s mouth went dry and he froze mid-step. Cas was wearing one of Dean’s old, very thin, Led Zeppelin t-shirts and the skimpiest pair of boxers Dean had ever seen. His long, thick _bare_ legs were stretched out in front of him, crossed at the ankles, accentuating the sizable bulge that was obviously barely contained by the tiny shorts. A book was propped up on top of his stomach, and he'd somehow managed to get the t-shirt rucked up just enough that a thin strip of tanned skin was visible above his waistband.

Dean forced his eyes up to meet Castiel’s—determined not to perv on his _totally platonic_ bunkmate for the evening—but that was a mistake. A smirk tugged at the corner of Cas' mouth, like he knew exactly the effect he had on Dean. His eyes twinkled like some kind of mischievous sex God. He even had the extra tousled sex hair going on, strands sticking up every which way. Dean's fingers twitched with the need to card his fingers through it while he straddled Castiel’s lap and— _no. This is not how platonic bros think about each other_ , Dean reminded himself.

Dean cleared his throat and forced his legs to move. He threw himself down on his side of the bed, facing the wall, grumbling a quick “‘Night, Cas.” He didn't trust his voice to stay steady enough to say anything more.

“Goodnight, Dean,” Cas said, his gruff voice buoyant with suppressed laughter. Dean scowled at the wall until the light clicked off and he felt Cas settle down next to him. He stayed on his side of the bed, not even coming close to touching Dean, but he didn't need to. Dean was painfully aware of every movement Cas made all night long. Every time Cas moved, the sheets pulled against Dean’s skin, caressing him as surely as if Cas had done it himself.

Dean woke the next morning grumpy and exhausted from lack of sleep and a night spent in frustrated arousal. He dressed quietly and left to pick up coffee and breakfast sandwiches before Sam or Cas woke.

 

#### 2

“Son of a bitch,” Dean yelled, throwing his duffel bag into a chair. “Again? What, is there a fuckin' convention in town?”

“Actually, yeah,” Sam said, tossing his bag onto one of the empty beds. Cas moved past them to set his bag on the other bed.

“Crap. It's not a convention for Chuck’s books, is it?” Dean whined. He really didn’t want to deal with a bunch of creepy look-alikes wandering around and getting in their way. Or _Becky_. He shuddered involuntarily.

“No, thank god,” Sam said with an obvious shudder of his own. “It's a knitting convention.”

“Knitting?” Dean said, screwing up his face in disbelief. “As in yarn and scarves, that kind of crap?”

“Yep,” Sam said absentmindedly, pulling his tablet out and sitting at the table to go over the research for their case.

“Huh.” Dean grabbed three beers out of the old green ice chest they took with them on all their trips.

“Do you think we’ll have time to stop by after we finish the case?” Cas asked, looking hopeful as he stepped forward to take two of the bottles from Dean, passing one to Sam. Sam shook his head so Cas set it on the table.

“You wanna go to the knitting convention?” Dean asked, scoffing as he twisted the cap off the bottle in his hands. He handed it to Cas automatically, trading it for the unopened bottle. “Do you even know how to knit?”

“Well, no, but I'd like to learn more about it.”

“About knitting.” Dean twisted the cap off his bottle and took a sip.

“Yes, Dean. It is a worthwhile human pastime.”

“Which you would know all about, having been human for what, two months?”

“That's the point Dean, I want to learn. I'll make you a scarf.” He smiled earnestly at Dean, mostly with his eyes, and just a little uptick of the corners of his mouth. Something inside of Dean began to melt, and his stomach did a little flip flop.

“Oh, uh, ok,” Dean stuttered, trying to keep his face from flushing, “you know, if we have time or whatever, maybe we could stop by.”

Sam cleared his throat loudly, startling Dean and drawing Cas’ attention. “Well if you two are done with... whatever that was,” he flapped a hand in their general direction as he got up from the table, “I'm going to bed. You two should get some sleep too, we have an early day tomorrow.”

“Right,” Dean said, rubbing the back of his neck and downing half of his beer. “I'm just gonna go grab a quick shower.”

He took his beer with him and finished it while he was in the shower. For once he was too tired to have his usual shower jerk off. After driving all day all he wanted to do was rinse off the dirt from the road and fall into bed. He ruthlessly shut down any thoughts about sharing said bed with Cas. When he exited the bathroom fully clothed in pajama bottoms and an old t-shirt ten minutes later, Cas slipped by with a nod and closed the door behind him.

Sam was starfished out on the bed by the wall, so Dean tossed his jeans into his duffel bag and made his way to the bed by the door. He sprawled out and got as comfortable as he could while only taking up half the bed, trying to leave a reasonable amount of space for Cas. Never let it be said Dean Winchester was an inconsiderate bedmate. He laughed quietly at his own innuendo, then sobered when he remembered who his bedmate was this particular night. He grabbed the tv remote and flipped through channels to distract himself.

Cas emerged from the bathroom almost half an hour later. For a being that hadn't taken a single shower in his long ass life until recently, the bastard sure took to them. It was rare any hot water was left when he finished. Hence the reason Dean always jumped into the shower before Cas did.

Dean had been close to dozing off, his eyes half lidded, and not really paying attention to the crime procedural on the tv. When Cas walked through the cloud of steam rolling out of the bathroom doorway, Dean’s eyes were drawn to him immediately. Cas was wearing nothing but a white towel—one of the too small, worn so thin it was practically see through towels that were common in cheap motels—and Dean sucked in a breath at the sight.

Cas’ dark hair was matted to his forehead and droplets of water slid down his face and across his jawline. Dean’s eyes slid lower—without his permission—tracking the water droplets on their path down Cas' chest and across the plane of his stomach where they were absorbed into the white towel slung much much too low across chiseled hips. Dean's mouth went dry as his imagination took over and offered a vision of him licking the moisture off the curve of one of those hip bones. Stifling a groan, he pulled his knees in to hide the unfortunately timed swelling going on below his waistband, and cleared his throat. Cas’ eyes snapped up, boring into him and stripping him bare.

“Are you ok, Dean?”

“Fine, Cas,” he answered, hoping his voice sounded steadier than it felt coming out.

Cas watched him with furrowed eyebrows for a moment longer, then turned away to rummage through his duffel bag. Dean tried to pry his eyes away when he realized Cas wasn't going to go back into the bathroom to get dressed, but it was futile. Cas pulled a pair of boxer briefs up under the towel, letting the flimsy piece of cloth fall away just as the elastic of the boxers slid over the curve of his ass. Then he bent over to grab a t-shirt, and Dean mentally berated himself for not jerking off in the shower earlier. It was going to be another long night.

Somehow Dean managed to survive, despite the low level loss of blood to his brain all damn night, and he didn't realize until the next morning that they'd never actually rock-paper-scissored for the bed. Luckily the case was open and shut. They stopped at the knitting convention and were back onto the road before night fell and before Dean had to deal with any residual feelings about that.

 

#### 3 

“So whose idea was it to rent a tiny one bedroom cabin?” Dean grumbled after making a round of the entire cabin in less time than it took for Sam to crack open a beer.

“Dean, it's the closest place we could get to where the sightings occurred. It made sense,” Sam said, tossing Dean an unopened bottle. “I'll take the couch. You and Cas can take the bed, it'll be better for your elder backs,” he smirked.

Dean caught the bottle one handed and cracked it open, glaring daggers at his asshole little brother. “Probably got the tiniest cabin available on purpose,” he grumbled under his breath.

Sam returned the glare with a bitchface, then sighed and took a swig of his beer. “Fine, if it makes you feel better I'll bunk with Cas, you can have the couch.”

“No.” Sam looked as startled as Dean felt at the sudden outburst. “I mean, uh, you have a point, my back couldn't take sleeping on that lumpy couch. Besides, Cas doesn't know how to handle bunking with a giant Sasquatch-starfish hybrid. You'd end up smothering the poor guy in his sleep.”

Cas chose that moment to walk through the door with an armful of split logs for the fire.

“Who would end up being smothered?” he asked, dropping the bundle of wood next to the woodstove. He shucked his trench coat off his shoulders to lay it over the back of a chair. Dean suppressed a grin. Cas had taken to wearing his version of the “Winchester uniform”: boots, jeans, t-shirts, and flannel—but he still insisted on wearing that damn trench coat.

“Nobody’s being smothered, don't worry about it, Cas,” Dean said. “Grab your bag, I'll give you the grand tour and show you your bunk.”

Dean slept better than he had in months that night. The woodstove was in the room where Sam slept on the couch, and the heat it generated didn't quite reach the bedroom, despite the lack of square footage to cross. In order to keep warm, he and Cas had burrowed under as many blankets as they’d been able to find in the cabin. They'd fallen asleep on their respective halves of the bed with plenty of space between them.

Some time during the night though, Dean woke up shivering. Cas wordlessly reached out and pulled him close, and Dean was just drowsy enough let it happen without protest. Cas was a warm, solid presence at his back and Dean melted against him. It was like having his own personal electric blanket. For once, Dean let himself enjoy being wrapped in someone's—in _Cas'_ arms. He fell back into a dreamless sleep almost immediately with his head tucked under Cas’ chin.

The next time he awoke, the sun was just peeking over the horizon, spreading a grey glow through the room. He was uncomfortably warm and he tried to move his sweaty limbs to kick off what felt like a dozen blankets weighing him down. It wasn't just blankets though, Cas was wrapped around him like a damn octopus. His limbs were what weighed Dean down. The guy hid a body made of solid muscle under his oversized trench coat, and muscle was heavy.

Trying to extricate himself from Cas’ tentacle-like limbs only served to disturb Cas’ sleep. Dean froze as Cas grumbled and pulled Dean closer, rolling what felt like some pretty epic morning wood against Dean’s ass before falling still.

Dean gasped when that tidbit of knowledge shot right to the tent he was currently pitching. “Oh, hell,” he ground out, trying not to think about how good it felt to have Cas grind against him and how much he really wanted to feel it again. He had to get Cas off of him before he did something he'd regret, like taking advantage of his sleeping best friend. “Cas, wake up.”

Cas responded by mumbling and pressing the length of his body even closer against Dean’s. He rolled his hips again, this time letting out a sleepy, pleased sounding moan. The sound vibrated through his ear as a warm puff of breath raised the hairs at the nape of his neck. A shudder ran through his body and his hips twitched involuntarily.

“Cas!” Dean hissed in a broken voice, half turning over to push against Cas’ chest and put some space between their bodies. “Dude, wake up!”

“Hmm?” One blue eye cracked open, fixing Dean with a glare. “What's wrong Dean?”

“Nothing dude, but you're like a freaking octopus and I gotta piss.”

It wasn't exactly false, he did have to piss and Cas was being extremely octopus-like. Dean didn't feel the need to mention the fact that his morning semi had turned into a raging hard on thanks to Cas sleep molesting him, and that he was about two grinds away from giving into his animal urges and pushing his ass back against Cas. That would've made things really fucking awkward.

“Mmm, my apologies,” Cas mumbled, removing his arms and legs from where they had been intertwined with Dean’s. Dean swore he caught a smirk on Cas’ face before he rolled over and buried himself back under the blankets. Dean frowned to cover up the grin that threatened to spread across his own face, and surreptitiously adjusted himself as he rushed to the bathroom.

 

#### 4

“Cas! Hey! Can you hear me?” Dean smacked Cas’ cheek lightly until startled blue eyes opened beneath his. "Hey, there you are," he said, smiling what he hoped was a reassuring smile though his stomach was churning at the amount of blood flowing from the gash on Cas' forehead.

“Dean? What—” Cas paused, blinking several times and looking around wildly, “what happened?”

“That fucking vamp threw you across the room and you hit your head.” Dean panicked and shook Cas by the shoulder when his blue eyes started to roll back into white. “Damn it Cas, stay awake! Just keep your eyes on me buddy.”

“Dean, I'm so tired.”

“Cas, you probably have a pretty nasty concussion and we gotta get you to a hospital. You gotta stand up, okay?” Dean turned to pull Cas’ arm over his shoulders and struggled to push them both up to standing. “Sammy! Where you at?”

“In here, Dean, I'm good!” Sam came jogging through the doorway and rushed to help Dean lift Cas the rest of the way. “Got the straggler.”

“Good. Fucking bloodsuckers. We gotta go—Cas needs a doctor. We’ll clean this mess up later,” Dean said, scowling at the headless vamp sprawled on the floor. He dug the Impala’s keys out of his pocket and held them out to Sam. “You drive.”

Several hours later, Cas was mostly clean, except for his bloody clothes, and stitched up. Sam dropped them off at the bunker and took off to take care of the mess they'd left behind. Dean helped Cas down the bunker stairs, steering them towards his bedroom. When they got to his doorway and Dean turned towards it, Cas hesitated.

“Dean, this is your room, not mine.”

“I know Cas, Doc said someone's gotta keep an eye on you for 24 hours so you're bunking here tonight.”

Cas allowed Dean to lead him into the room and toward the bed. “But where will you sleep?”

“Don't plan on sleeping Cas.” Dean applied gentle pressure to Cas’ shoulders to get him to sit on the edge of the bed, then knelt down to untie Cas’ shoes.

“Dean,” Cas said, placing a hand under Dean’s chin to lift his face, “you need to sleep too.” Cas peered into Dean’s eyes, no doubt reading him like he was an open book. “You're exhausted.”

Dean looked back down at Cas’ feet and pulled his boots off. “Gotta stay awake so I can wake your invalid ass up every two hours,” he mumbled.

“Can't you set an alarm on your phone?”

Shit. Cas had an answer for everything, even if he was concussed and not thinking straight. “Yeah,” Dean answered, standing to help push the trench coat off Cas’ shoulders, “I guess I could do that.”

“Then do,” Cas said, grasping Dean’s arm and squeezing gently. Dean stilled, staring at the AC/DC logo on Cas’ faded t-shirt, another of Dean’s cast offs. “And get some sleep. Please.”

“Yeah, okay Cas,” Dean said after a moment.

After helping Cas change into pajamas and get into bed, Dean set his alarm and quickly changed his own clothes. He returned from a quick trip to to the bathroom to find Cas already sound asleep. He climbed under the covers and reached out to gently brush a stray lock of hair off Cas’ bandaged forehead, then closed his eyes to get a couple hours of sleep.

#### 5

“Here you go, Cas,” Sam said, tossing him a key, “you're in room 124. We’ll be right around the corner.”

“Wait, what?” Dean said, “what do you mean we'll be around the corner?”

“I mean our room is right around the corner from Cas’ room.”

“Oh.” Dean frowned. He lifted the trunk of the Impala and wedged a shotgun against it to hold it up. “Wait," he said, leaning around the lifted trunk to fix Sam with a confused frown, "we have two rooms?”

“Yeah, Dean, the hotel had two rooms available, so we have a double and Cas has a single.”

“Oh,” Dean said, wondering why that felt so wrong. He pulled Cas' duffel bag out of the trunk and handed it to him before grabbing his own. “Guess I'll see you in the morning then.”

“Sleep well, Dean,” Cas said, hefting his bag over his shoulder. He made no move to leave, and Dean had the sudden urge to pull him in for a hug. He didn't though, because he was a fucking coward. Instead, he clapped a hand against Cas’ shoulder briefly before turning to follow Sam.

“Oh, Dean,” Cas called. Dean turned around. Cas was walking toward him, pulling a bundle of green yarn out of his bag. “I almost forgot, this is for you.”

Dean took the bundle and unraveled it. “A scarf?”

“Yes, the scarf I made for you,” Cas answered, smiling timidly.

It was quite possibly the ugliest scarf Dean had ever seen, all uneven loops of yarn and crooked stitches. Obviously Cas still had a lot to learn about knitting. Dean couldn’t hold back a smile. “Thanks, Cas.”

A few hours later, Dean lay wide awake in his bed. He wondered if Cas was asleep yet, if he was dreaming, or if he was flipping through channels on the tv. Sam had crashed after a quick shower and was lightly snoring in the next bed. Dean snuggled down into the blankets and tried to follow suit, but something felt off.

He pushed back the blankets and got out of bed, intending to grab a book out of his bag. But his hand brushed against the godawful ugly green scarf Cas had knit for him. Dean ran his fingers over the soft yarn and brought it up to his nose. It smelled like Cas, like old books and warm honey, with a hint of motor oil from all the time he spent in the Impala now. Dean smiled and found his hands reaching for his boots and jacket. He pulled them on and slipped out the door.

He made his way to the end of the row of rooms and turned the corner, finding himself staring at the numbers “124”, clenching and releasing his fist. He raised it, poised to knock but not having the guts to actually do it, and was about to turn back around when the door opened.

“Dean?” Castiel’s messy head poked out and Dean smiled at how rumpled he looked. “What are you doing? Is everything okay?”

“I'm fine, Cas, everything’s fine. Just uh—” Dean hesitated, trying to come up with a plausible reason for standing in front of Cas’ door at close to midnight, “—just couldn't sleep. Sammy’s snoring like a damn chainsaw. You mind if I bunk with you?”

Dean watched as Cas’ eyes sparkled and a slow grin spread across his face. He couldn't help smiling back.

“Of course, Dean,” he said, pulling the door open and standing aside, “please, come in.”

 

#### +1 

It had been a busy few weeks, with plenty of cases putting miles on the Impala and plenty of nights spent in cramped motels and hotels. Dean had to admit he had gotten used to bunking with Cas, had even started looking forward to it. But they were back in the bunker now where he and Sammy and Cas each had their own rooms and their own beds. No reason for him and Cas to share a bed at all. Dean tried to ignore his disappointment.

After wolfing down take-out burgers they'd picked up on the way home, each of the boys made their way to their respective rooms to crash for the night. Dean showered and changed into his softest flannel pants and a worn out t-shirt, then flopped face down on his bed, groaning in pleasure because it felt so good to be back in a bed that remembered him. It was soft and cozy and warm, and he nestled into the pillows and blankets, trying to ignore the niggling feeling that something was missing. That was just ridiculous, he was home and he had everything he needed.

 _Except, maybe_... Dean let the thoughts come, too tired to block them, or maybe just finally ready to listen... _Cas_. Cas was what was missing. He wanted Cas curled up next to him, wanted to wake up to his nose being tickled by that ridiculously messy dark hair. He wanted to wake up sweaty and overheated because Cas’ limbs were wrapped around him. He _wanted Cas_.

Dean took a deep breath and rolled over to stare up at the ceiling. There was no way Cas felt the same. If he was being honest with himself—and it seemed like that's what was happening right now—Dean was kind of a dick to Cas most of the time; always complaining about ‘getting stuck’ sharing a bed with him, grumbling about Cas staying on his damn side of the bed, grunting at him while shoving a cup of crappy gas station coffee towards him instead of using words and saying good morning because he was too insecure to admit he had feelings for Cas. Yep, Dean was a total dick, and there was no way Cas would ever want what Dean wanted.

Dean was startled out of his musings by a soft knock on his door.

“It’s open,” he called.

The door inched open and a head of messy dark hair appeared before a set of deep blue eyes peeked in. “Dean?”

Dean grinned. “Come on in Cas.”

“I'm sorry to wake you—”

“Wasn't sleeping,” Dean interrupted, pushing up to sit on the edge of his mattress. Cas stepped just inside the doorway, keeping one hand on the open door. “Everything okay, Cas?”

“Yes, fine,” Cas answered, looking down at his bare feet. He looked so cozy and domestic, in sweats and another of Dean’s old shirts underneath a worn hoodie. Dean had to fight back the urge to walk across the room and pull Cas back into bed with him.

“So... what's going on?”

“I—” Cas hesitated, then brought his eyes up to meet Dean’s, “um, I just wanted to say goodnight.” He glanced back down at his feet, then his glance flicked momentarily back to Dean as he gave him a tight lipped smile and a nod. “Goodnight, Dean.”

“‘Night, Cas.”

Cas turned and rushed out of the room. Dean frowned, confused and not sure about anything other than how wrong it felt for Cas to say goodnight and then leave. He stood quickly and half jogged to his door. Cas was already halfway down the hallway.

“Cas,” he called. Cas hesitated, turning halfway around to look back at Dean. “Get back here.”

Cas’ brows furrowed and his eyes narrowed, leveling Dean with one of his signature confused head tilts. Dean couldn't hold back the grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. He was really going to do this. He was going to ask Cas to stay. Not because there was nowhere else for one of them to sleep, not because of some flimsy excuse like Sam snoring, and not because one of them was injured—but because he wanted Cas to stay.

Cas was still just standing in the hallway staring, so Dean took a step back and held his bedroom door open further, gesturing for Cas to get his formerly feathery ass inside. He raised an eyebrow and waited for Cas to get the hint.

Finally, Cas started walking towards Dean, confused look still clouding his face. Dean waited till he walked through the doorway, then closed the door behind them, leaning against it and trying not to smile like an idiot.

Cas’ eyes widened slightly as the door clicked shut. “Dean?”

It was only one word. A name actually, not even a word with any meaning. But Dean understood the question, and he didn't need words to answer it.

Dean pushed off the door and moved to stand in front of Cas, reaching out to grab the zippered edges of his hoodie and pulling Cas closer. He looked into Cas’ blue eyes—eyes that had once held the immense power of an angelic being in their depths—and shuddered as his pupils visibly dilated. Those eyes still held power. Maybe it wasn't angelic grace anymore, but they held more than enough power to destroy Dean. Dean took a nervous breath, hoping he was giving Cas the right answer, and brought their faces incrementally closer together. He felt Cas' sharp intake of breath as his eyebrows raised and his eyes widened further.

Dean glanced down when Cas’ tongue darted out to wet his lips. He couldn’t hold back any longer. He leaned forward just enough to brush against Cas’ lips, giving him the opportunity to pull away if he wanted to. When he didn't, Dean pressed forward, increasing the pressure. Cas parted his lips and moaned, his hands flying up to grip Dean’s waist.

Dean tilted his head to deepen their kiss, darting his tongue out to taste. Cas surged against him, as if he wanted to devour Dean. What Cas lacked in finesse, he more than made up for with enthusiasm, nipping and sucking at Dean's lips. Dean quickly lost himself in the slick slide of their tongues; the feel of Cas’ fingers in his hair and on his waist, sneaking up under the hem of his t-shirt to graze at bare skin; the scratch of Cas’ stubble on his lips; Cas’ solid body molded against his. Somewhere in the back of his mind Dean berated himself for waiting so damn long to do this.

Dean reluctantly broke free to catch his breath, panting into the space between them. Cas whined and leaned forward, chasing Dean’s lips. Dean chuckled and slid his hands up to frame Cas’ face, holding him still and leaning back to meet his eyes. Cas gazed back at Dean, eyes dark with hunger, mouth pink and swollen and just begging to be kissed again. Dean felt himself go weak in the knees and he sucked in a shuddering breath to steady himself.

“Cas,” he breathed. There was one more thing he had to say, and he had to use words. “You're bunking with me from now on—I mean, if you want to.”

Dean held his breath, still nervous about how Cas would answer despite what they'd just spent the last few minutes doing. Maybe Cas still wanted his own space, maybe he only wanted Dean as an occasional fuck buddy. Dean’s mind came up with a hundred different scenarios in the scant second it took for Cas to answer.

“I'll move my stuff in first thing in the morning,” he smiled, leaning forward to press a kiss full of promises to Dean’s lips. “Let's go to bed.”

A grin spread across Dean’s face as he let Cas pull him towards his—no, _their_ bed.


End file.
